


Operation Vixen

by damndonnergirls, Hawtsee



Series: Operation Vixen [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Ireland, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damndonnergirls/pseuds/damndonnergirls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawtsee/pseuds/Hawtsee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Madge Undersee wants Gale Hawthorne under her tree for Christmas, she’s going to have to seriously up her flirting game. Gadge in Ireland, by hawtsee and damndonnergirls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to madgesundersee (jennycaakes on Tumblr) for coming up with this awesome idea for the Gadge community to come together this season. This is the first collaboration between hawtsee and damndonnergirls. We hope you like it!

DAY ONE: Christmas Trees

Dublin, Ireland

“Santa won’t you bring me the one I really need, won’t you please bring my baby to me.”

It’s fitting that Mariah Carey’s seminal classic is playing when Madge steps out of the elevator onto the third floor. Her co-worker Gale Hawthorne is literally lying under a Christmas tree; his long legs stretching halfway across the lobby floor, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a hint of abs and a trail of dark hair leading downwards.

If there’s one thing that Madge really, really wants under her Christmas tree this year, it’s Gale Hawthorne.

He scoots out and rises to his feet, his frown transforming into a grin when he spots Madge. “Is it straight?”

Gale’s voice is warm and deep, and his Northside Dublin accent wraps around the words softly, like smoke. There’s something in the cadence of it, something in the curve of the vowels and the edge of the consonants, that does this American girl good.

“Um,” she tears her gaze from him and examines the tree. “Perfect.”

“Great. Want to help me decorate it?”

“Yes. Just let me…” She gestures to her bag and coat, then hurries to her desk to get rid of them. She runs her fingers through her hair and fluffs it up before going back to Gale.

It’s late to be putting up Christmas decorations, but the whole office had decided, by a sizeable majority, to that they’d wait until the week before Christmas. Their workplace had become a haven from the relentless barrage of all things Christmas since Halloween had concluded. But as they get closer to the holiday, Madge’s excitement is growing. Her parents are flying over in a few days and she can’t wait to spend her first Christmas in Ireland with them.

They wrap the tree in several strands of lights first, then break out the baubles. Madge hangs them at random, but Gale places them carefully, ensuring an even distribution of type and colour. When Madge catches on, she starts hanging more on his side of the tree, ruining the effect he has achieved. He scowls and complains, but soon he’s grinning.

“It will look schizophrenic,” she teases him when he starts removing the ones she had hung. She slaps his hand away and inserts herself between him and the tree. He uses his height advantage to pluck one from over her head and smiles smugly at her. She pushes him away playfully.

It’s the most physical contact she’s had with him in the eight months she’s been working here and it’s exhilarating. She liked the feel of his body brushing against hers, and she wants him closer. She wants to press her body against him and feel his hard muscles, the softness of his skin, his breath against her neck.

She meets his gaze between the branches of the tree and he smiles. On a high from the physical contact, she gives him her best flirtatious smile and tosses her hair. “I hope you have plenty of mistletoe, you’re going to need it.” She even throws in a wink.

“We’re not allowed hang any mistletoe. There was an incident last year between two of the interns. We had to do a full-day sexual harassment workshop in January because of it. So no mistletoe.”

“Oh.” His complete obliviousness to her attempt at flirting is like a bucket of cold water to the face. “Right.”

Gale places a gold star at the top of the tree and stands back to survey it. “That’s grand. I suppose we should go do some actual work now.”

She watches him walk back to his desk.

If she wants Gale Hawthorne under her tree for Christmas, she’s going to have to seriously up her flirting game.


	2. Two

DAY TWO: Sick and Lonely/Alone

After the Christmas tree incident, Madge floats home with a smile on her face and Gale Hawthorne on her mind. She spends the evening dancing around her kitchen and digging through her clothes. After all, she has to look the part if she’s ever going to pull off Operation Vixen.

But the feeling doesn’t last and a phone call from home sucks out all the Christmas spirit from her.

At work, Gale notices the change. “Are you sick?” he asks, concerned.

Madge crosses her arms over her midsection. It’s like her insides are going through a paper shredder. “I’ve been better.”

On top of the bad news from home, her period has started three days early and all her crying last night has left her with puffy eyes and a red nose. Madge feels frumpy and bloated and more like a Rudolph than a Vixen.

Gale doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and goes back to work. After a few minutes, however, he gets up and heads for the kitchenette. When he reappears, he slides a glass of water in front of Madge. “Drink this,” he says, in a tone that’s gentle but leaves no room for negotiation.

Madge takes an obedient sip, only to realize it’s not water. “What—” she splutters. The liquid dribbles down her chin.

“It’s 7 Up,” Gale says. “It’ll make you feel better.”

She wipes her mouth. “But it’s warm. And all the bubbles are gone.”

“Flat 7 up, traditional Irish remedy.”

“It can’t be all that traditional if it’s 7 Up.”

He gives her a crooked smile. “See? It’s working. You’re all feisty again.”

Madge sighs, but she takes another sip. “It’s my mother,” she confides. “She broke her leg skiing. Dad called me from the hospital last night.” Her parents were in Aspen with her dad’s politician friends. The nasty thought occurs to Madge that she wishes it had happened to one of them instead.

Gale’s forehead creases with worry. “How is she?”

“She’s all right, now. But they won’t be able to fly here after all.” Madge chews her lip. “And I can’t fly over there—everything’s booked until after New Year’s.”

“Shite.”

“You said it.”

What Madge really needs right now is a hug, but Gale doesn’t make a move. His arms stay resolutely at his sides.

He flexes his fingers. “And you were so keen for them to visit, too.”

“I was.” All of a sudden, there’s a hollow in her heart, and for the first time Madge wonders if she made the right decision to take this job in Ireland.

Gale finally reaches out and touches her arm, above the elbow. He gives it a tentative squeeze, but he doesn’t say a word.

Later, Madge finds a twist of paper next to her computer. Inside is a handful of Cadbury Roses. Raided all the tins for the strawberry ones. I know they’re your favourite, the note reads. It’s signed, simply, G.

She looks up. Gale is on the opposite side of the room, talking to Thom, but he catches her eye and smiles.

She smiles back, feeling her spirits lift. Her parents won’t be here for Christmas, but they’re alive and well, and that’s all that matters. Besides, there are still lots of things to look forward to: shopping, the office party, drinks at the pub with her new friends. Maybe even spending more time with Gale.

It might be a merry Christmas after all.


	3. Three

DAY THREE: Hawthorne siblings

Gale is standing in the lobby, waiting for a heavy shower to pass when Madge leaves work. She stops beside him and looks out the grey, bleary vista. “Where are you headed?”

He gives a pained sigh. “Grafton Street.”

Madge winces. The upmarket pedestrianised shopping street is busy on a normal day, in the run up to Christmas it’s completely thronged. “Why?”

“I’m meeting the kids.” He gives her a sidelong glance, as if he’s afraid of upsetting her. “It’s a family tradition; come into town, see the lights, buy mam’s present and go for dinner together.”

“That’s sweet. As it happens, I’m going that way too,” she brandishes her red umbrella. “You can stand under my umbrella.”

She doesn’t think he’ll get the reference, but he surprises her by singing under his breath. “Ella, ella.”

Madge laughs as they step out into the rain and they press together under the nylon shelter. Gale takes the handle from her to carry it. It’s small; a collapsible one that fits in her purse. She’d learned pretty quickly how unwieldy the large ones are in the Irish weather. They have to walk very close together to stay dry; close enough that it makes perfect sense for her to slip her hand through the crook of his elbow.

She likes to think that later, he’ll catch the scent of her perfume from his jacket and it will spark the memory of them walking together in the rain.

“Do you even own an umbrella?” she asks.

“No. Why?”

“Because I’ve lived here for eight months now, that’s roughly two-hundred-and-forty days. And it’s rained on about two-hundred-and-twenty of them, which I’m told is about average. Yet, I’ve never met an Irish person who actually owns an umbrella.”

Gale looks up at the strawberry pattern above them. “How many have you gone through since you got here?”

“Five? Six?” She’s either lost them, or they’ve been ruined by the wind.

“Six in eight months, so let’s say eight a year; over a lifetime that’s around five hundred. You get fed up of lugging them around pretty quickly and most of the time you don’t get that wet anyway. You’re better off with a good coat.”

“Well, I like them. There’s something romantic about them.” Like this right, walking arm in Gale along the banks of the Grand Canal, snug and dry together, this would be the kind of perfect, romantic moment she’s dreamed about since was thirteen and first started noticing boys.

Gale raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“How old are your brothers and sister?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Rory is twenty, he goes to Trinity actually,” Gale says, pointing to the university on the far side of the black railings they’re walking alongside. “Vick is eighteen, he’s doing the Leaving this year. And Posy’s twelve.”

“Oh. I always thought they were younger because of the way you talk about them.”

Gale chuckles. “Yeah, they’re not really kids anymore but I’m having a hard time getting my head around that. The boys were pretty young when Dad died and Pose wasn’t even born, so I had to take on a lot of responsibility. I always feel like I skipped being a teenager and went straight into adulthood.” He shrugs. “The age gap seems a lot bigger than six years.”

“Are you close to them?”

He nods. “We’ve very close. Especially now the lads are older. I can finally stop being the dad and we can just be friends and go out drinking together and stuff. Posy’s still my little princess though. I just want to keep her the way she is now, stop her becoming a teenager.”

Madge gives him a sympathetic smile, though inside she’s swooning. There’s something about the way he talks about his siblings that always makes her insides melt. She blames it on a biological imperative to seek out a good father.

“Have you seen the live crib?” Gale asks. Madge shakes her head, so he steers her across the street, changing their route. “It was one of my favourite things about Christmas when I was a kid. It was the only time I got to see real farm animals.”

They walk down Molesworth street and turn onto Dawson street. The rain has died away, so Gale lowers the umbrella, but he keeps his arm pressed tight to his side, trapping Madge’s hand there. She could easily pull away if she wanted to, but she really doesn’t want to.

They stop in front of a large and old two story house. “The Mansion House, official residence of the Lord Mayor of Dublin,” Gale informs her. There’s a temporary, wooden building in front of it, and a small crowd of people, mostly families milling around.

They squeeze their way in. The crib is cosy, and the reactions of the small children to seeing the real animals is adorable. They pet one of the really cute donkeys and squeeze out again.

Gale pauses at the donation box and very discreetly puts money into it, though Madge spots the telltale orange of a fifty Euro note.

“The Mansion House fuel fund,” she reads as she drops a handful of change into the box.

“Only for it,” Gale says quietly, though he doesn’t elaborate on it.

They fall into step again, and as Madge can’t think of a good excuse to link arms with him again, she stuffs her hands in her pockets. She drags her feet a little as St. Stephen’s Green comes into view.

Gale looks at her and smiles. “You seem in better form today.”

“I am, thank you.”

“See, flat 7 Up, every time.”

Madge laughs.

They stop of the top of Grafton Street, where a choir of schoolchildren are singing Christmas Carols in front of the large tree. It’s dark by now, so the full effect of the lights can be felt. Again she’s struck at how romantic it could be if… If only.

She glances up at Gale, and to her surprise, he’s staring down at her with an intense look in his eyes. She swallows as her heart rate speeds up.

“Gale!” comes a girlish voice from behind them and somebody barrels into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Gale returns his little sister’s tight hug and then turns to greet his brothers. Madge knows he sees his family a lot, but they all look so happy to be in each other’s presence.

“I hope you emptied your savings account, it’s your turn to pay this year,” he teases Posy. She punches him lightly in the arm. “This is Madge, by the way. We work together. This is Rory, Vick and Posy.”

They all say hello, and Madge pretends not to notice as Posy unsubtly nudges Gale. He rolls his eyes at her, but adjusts her hood so it’s no longer inside out.

He would make such a good dad, Madge thinks to herself. She smiles at the Hawthornes. “I should get going, but it was really nice to meet all of you.”

“You too,” the younger ones chorus.

“I’ll see you in work tomorrow,” Gale tells her, handing over her umbrella.

“Thanks, daddy.”

Madge freezes.

What?

What did she just say?

Because she did not just say that! Why would she say that? She has never used that term before in her life.

This must be what a stroke feels like.

She might actually be having a real stroke, because she can feel her whole body growing numb.

Gale laughs awkwardly, and the others titter behind them. “Okay,” he says.

Madge turns and flees. She doesn’t even say goodbye. She jumps on the first LUAS tram she sees, not even looking to see if it’s the right one. She just needs to get away from there.

The whole ride home, she cringes. Their stroll together under her strawberry umbrella had been one of the most romantic moments of her life, and she had ruined it by calling him Daddy. She would never, ever get over this.

Never.


	4. Four

Day Four - Broken Heater

Daddy. Madge relives the moment over and over in head. She actually called Gale Daddy. In front of his siblings. Kill me now.

She dreads having to face him again the next morning, but she womans up and marches into the office anyway.

“Why would they think you’re a pervert?” Gale asks, clearly befuddled, when Madge apologises to him.

Madge blushes, because of course the Hawthornes didn’t know she meant it that way. To them, it had been funny, not dirty. If she just pretended it never happened, Gale would have thought no more of it; but by bringing it up again today, she just humiliated herself. Again.

“Oh.” Gale’s cheeks redden too. “Did you mean Daddy as in not the parental kind of Daddy?”

“No!” Madge blusters. “Obviously not. I just thought maybe you might have thought that. I don’t know what you guys mean half the time; savage means brilliant and cat means awful. It’s so hard to keep track of it all. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t said the wrong thing.”

“No, there’s nothing perverted about calling somebody Daddy here,” Gale assures her.

“Alright. Good.” She flees her desk for a little while, hides out in the kitchenette until her face has cooled down and her cheeks have returned to their normal colour.

When she goes back to her desk, Gale has apparently forgotten all about their last conversation, or has decided to change the subject. “Did you have a nice night, last night?”

Madge appreciates the effort, even if it’s an unpleasant reminder of yet another thing that was going wrong in her life. “Not really. The radiator in my bedroom broke down and it’s going to take a while before they can repair it. I’m freezing.”

“That’s too bad,” Gale says sympathetically. “Don’t you have a hot water bottle?”

“It’s not enough for me. I’m always cold,” she tells him. “Not everyone’s body is blazing hot like yours.”

God! What is wrong with her? First Daddy, now this?

But Gale is unperturbed. In fact, he’s grinning at her in a way that makes her heart melt. Among other things. “Why don’t I come round to yours tonight, then?” he suggests. “I think I have the solution to your problem.”

Madge’s brain stops working. Was Gale really inviting himself over to her place? “You can fix my radiator?” she asks, to make sure she’s not just misunderstanding him.

“No. But I can help. It won’t be as good, but it’ll warm you up just the same.” He winks.

Her mouth hangs open. She has to be dreaming. She has to be. But the next moment she’s typing her address into Gale’s phone and handing it back to him.

“Deadly,” he says, his face lighting up in recognition when he checks her address.

“So did I tell you about the gift we got our mam?” Gale asks. “We almost couldn’t get it home. It’s massive.”

By this time, however, Madge is barely listening. And as she watches Gale put his phone back in his pocket, her mind wanders to other things that could, potentially, be massive.

* * *

Later, when her doorbell rings, Madge nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Coming!” she calls out. Immediately, she winces.

Madge gives herself one last look in the mirror before answering the door. The oversized sweater she’s wearing keeps falling off her shoulder, but that’s exactly why she put it on in the first place.

“Hey, you,” she greets him. Gale’s not in his office clothes anymore, and he looks so ruggedly handsome that Madge can already feel the temperature in her flat skyrocketing. Merry Christmas to me.

Gale grins, and for a moment Madge is so captivated that she doesn’t remember to invite him in. “So… can I come inside?” he asks.

Madge giggles nervously. “A little presumptuous now, aren’t we?”

His smile wavers. “Er…”

Her face flames, and soon her entire body is on fire. “Of course, of course,” she says, ushering him in. Get your mind out of the gutter, Undersee.

What next? It’s been awhile since the last time Madge had a guy over like this. “Can I offer you anything to drink? Some tea, maybe?”

“I’d love a cuppa, but I can’t stay long,” Gale tells her. “I promised Katniss I’d help her pick out a gift for Peeta.”

Madge frowns, confused. Why would he make any other plans tonight? “But you said—”

For the first time, she registers the box sitting by his feet. “Oh.”

It’s a portable space heater.

She should have known. She would have known, if she’d been thinking with her brain instead of her lady parts.

“It’s an old one of mine,” he says, oblivious to her disappointment. “It’ll keep you warm until they fix your heater.”

“I… thank you,” Madge says lamely. On one hand, she does need a heater, and it was terribly kind of Gale to lug one all the way from the Northside. On the other hand…

She pastes a bright smile onto her face. “This is great.”

It was massive, all right.

A massive failure.


	5. Five

Day Five - Secret Santa 

“For fecks sake, who stole all the strawberry ones again?” Delly mutters angrily as she roots through a tin of Cadbury Roses on the receptionist’s desk. With an aggrieved sigh she settles for a caramel one instead. “Did you do anything exciting last night?”

Madge shakes her head. “Stayed in, watched TV.” Ate an entire carton of ice cream. Wallowed in yet another humiliating failure at seducing Gale Hawthorne. Accepted that Operation Vixen was over before it had begun. “The usual,”

They arrive in their office, and Delly makes a beeline for the latest tin of Roses. Madge drops into her seat, and looks for Gale; he isn’t at his desk but his computer is turned on so he’s somewhere in the building.

She switches on her own computer and starts checking her emails when an IM bubble pops up. It’s Gale. “Don’t let Delly look in your top drawer.”

She looks over at his desk, still empty - and then to Delly who has emptied the entire tin of chocolates onto her desk and is sorting them by variety in her quest for a strawberry one. Biting her lip, Madge inches her drawer open and snorts.

It’s full of strawberry roses. She closes the drawer again and bites her lip to suppress her laughter as Delly angrily throws all the sweets back into the tin.

“Morning,” Gale says sitting down at his desk, mug of tea in hand. “What did I miss?”

Delly launches into a rant about the selfish fucker who has stolen all the strawberry chocolates and what she’s going to do to them when she catches up with the bollox. Gale is the picture of sympathetic listener, but when Delly is done and flops into her own seat, he catches Madge’s eye and winks at her.

It provokes the usual curl of heat through her body, but that’s followed quickly by the disappointing reminder that he only sees her as a friend.

“How was your room last night?” he asks. “Warm enough?”

“Yes, perfect. Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll get it back to you as soon as it’s fixed.”

“It’s grand, don’t worry about it,” Gale assures her.

They turn their attention to their work. At least Gale does, anyway. Madge sits pondering. Gale has been such a good friend to her, and she’s worried that she hasn’t appreciated him enough because for most of the time she’s known him she’s been looking for something more from him. She wants to find a way to do something nice for him, to express her gratitude to him. But she feels that any kind of gift will just make him uncomfortable. Plus, she’d have to give it to him at work and that would so awkward.

There’s only one way she can do it without making it weird.

“Let’s do Secret Santa,” she blurts out. Her suggestion is met with a lot of groans from all around her. “I know some of you are doing the company one, but let’s do one just for our team.”

She turns to Gale who’s already shaking his head and she pouts. “Please. It’s my first Christmas here and I’ve nobody to buy presents for. My parents and friends are all back in the States and I won’t get to see them and-”

“Fine. Jesus, lay off the guilt trip,” Gale sighs heavily, but he grins at her. “We’ll do Secret Santa.”

Madge beams at him, as the others around them all agree too, some with more enthusiasm than others. 

She’s basking in the glow of plan. She’ll rig the draw so she gets Gale and then she’ll be able to get him a gift and give it to him with revealing she has a massive crush on him. She’s a genius.

So much of a genius, she spends too much time gloating and doesn’t notice that Delly has emptied the roses tin again and filled it with names. It’s not until Delly pushes the tin under her nose and insists that she gets first pick as it was her idea that she realizes she’s messed this one up too.

Sure enough, instead of buying a gift for Gale, she has to find something for Delly Cartwright.


	6. Six

DAY SIX: Delly and Thom

Delly Cartwright! Delly Cartwright? Madge loves the girl, really she does, but she came up with this whole Secret Santa ploy for Gale, not Delly Cartwright.

Her next mission is clear: hunt down whoever picked Gale, and somehow convince that person to swap without making it too obvious that she has a crush on him.

If she could only figure out who Gale’s Secret Santa is.

If I got Gale for Secret Santa, what would I do? Sussing out what kind of gift he wanted, that’s what. So Madge steps back and observes Gale’s interactions with their colleagues from a distance, to see if anyone’s talking to him just a little bit more than usual.

When she thinks she has it worked out, she goes in for the kill.

She’s not as subtle as she thinks. “I didn’t get Gale for Secret Santa,” their team leader, Wiress, tells her gently.

Madge turns crimson. “But I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“I notice these things.” Wiress smiles. “That’s what I told the last person who asked me to swap.”

Someone else is trying to swap? That’s the last thing Madge needs right now. How can she figure out who picked Gale if people are constantly trading partners? “Who asked you—”

“That’s enough,” Wiress says firmly. “Go back to work. Have you updated your project status?”

Madge slinks away in shame.

A shriek pierces the air. Delly is standing next to a rubbish bin, pointing an accusing finger at the telltale pink foil wrapper of a strawberry Cadbury Rose. “Rub it in my face, why don’t you?”

Gale falls in step next to Madge. “You should be more careful where you chuck those things,” he murmurs, raising his mug to his lips to hide his grin.

“I usually am,” she admits, her eyes flickering up at him. “I was just, um, distracted.” Distracted by her plans constantly blowing up in her face, by the mystery of Gale’s Secret Santa, and good god look at those eyelashes.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “When she finds out, she’ll throw us in chocolate prison.”

Chocolate prison with Gale? Sounds delicious, Madge thinks, but fortunately she doesn’t say it out loud.

What she does say, however, is almost as bad. “Well, now I know what Delly wants for Christmas.”

Gale’s heavy eyebrows shoot up. “You got Delly for Secret Santa?”

She curses herself for that slip of the tongue. “No, I didn’t,” she bluffs. “But I wish I did.”

He seems to accept the ruse. “Yeah, it’s much easier if you pick a friend.”

“Much easier,” she agrees.

Madge hates that she’s lying to Gale, but she can’t admit who she really got for Secret Santa—not while there’s still a chance she can swap for him.

But as the day wears on, those chances are looking increasingly slim. She’s no closer to figuring out who picked Gale than she was at the beginning. For the most part, he’s talking to the same people he always does: Wiress, because she’s their boss; Madge, because her thirst for him is strong; and Thom, because he’s, well, Thom.

Something clicks into place in her mind. It’s much easier if you pick a friend.

Thom. Of course! All this time, she’s been overlooking him because he and Gale were already close to begin with. Nothing unusual about two good mates having a chin wag, was there?

She scans the room for a familiar dark-haired head. She’s right about this. She knows she is.

Madge’s gaze lands on her prime suspect. Thom has pulled up a chair next to Delly, who has calmed down considerably since her last tirade against the elusive chocolate thief. His dark hair, olive skin, and angular face are in striking contrast to her blonde hair, creamy complexion, and round cheeks, but they’re wearing identical expressions of concentration as they stare intently at her computer screen.

All of a sudden, Thom and Delly reach out at the same time, and their fingers brush as they point at the exact same line of code.

They withdraw their hands, laughing and apologizing, but Madge doesn’t miss the blush spreading across Delly’s cheeks, or the way Thom’s eyes light up with a boyish smile.

Madge almost cackles in relief. For once, something’s going her way. This is perfect.

Later, while Delly is away from her desk, Madge sends Thom an IM.

MADGE  
I believe I have something that may interest you.

Thom looks up from his computer, and Madge discreetly dangles a slip of paper—her Secret Santa pick with Delly’s name on it—from between her thumb and middle finger.

THOM  
I believe you do.


	7. Seven

Day Seven - Eggnog

Madge runs a critical eye over the selection of drinks in the chilled cabinet and sighs. “Is eggnog not a thing here? I never see it anywhere.”

“Nope, we don’t do eggnog.” Gale selects a carton of chocolate milk and they get in the queue to pay.

“No eggnog,” Madge shakes her head. “This country is so weird.” The woman standing in front of them turns around and shoots Madge a dirty look. Gale looks like he’s biting his tongue. Madge rolls her eyes at him. “Go ahead, I insulted your country, you can insult mine.”

Gale clutches his head as if in pain. “So. Many. Choices. Can’t. Decide.” He leans forward and grabs a Kinder Surprise from the counter. “These are banned in your country because they’re considered dangerous for children, but literally anybody can buy an assault rifle. You’re the weird country.”

“You win,” Madge concedes. The woman in front turns once again and smirks at her. Madge resists the urge to stick out her tongue at her.

“What is eggnog anyway?” Gale asks as they walk towards the city centre. “I mean, I know it’s a drink and it has something to do with Christmas because it shows up in every American television programme or film; but what is actually in it?”

“You’ve never had it at all?” Madge asks incredulously. He shakes his head. “It’s made from milk, cream, spices, eggs.”

“Wait, raw eggs?” Gale makes a face of displeasure. “It sounds like you’re making a cake.”

“There’s also alcohol in it. I prefer rum, but some people use Bourbon or brandy. You’d like it.”

“I doubt it. I think I’ll stick to Guinness.”

“Eggnog is amazing, Guinness tastes like fermented grass.”

“I’m not going to….” Gale shakes his head.

“It’s creamy, alcoholic and delicious; you guys are seriously missing out.” She looks up at Gale who’s laughing. “What’s so funny.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’ll take your word for it; eggnog is great.” They’ve reached the point in the city where they part ways as Gale heads north and she goes south. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Madge stops at the supermarket on the way home to buy the ingredients for eggnog.

“I made you something,” she singsongs during their tea break the following morning.

Gale eyes the bottle suspiciously. “Pancake batter?”

Madge punches his arm gently. “No, jerk. It’s eggnog.” She takes a clean cup from the press, pours a small amount into it and hands it to him. “Drink up.”

He lifts the cup and sniffs it, looking uncertain.

“Oh come on, I drank your flat 7 Up; it’s your turn to drink my eggnog.” He hesitates. “Chicken.”

He downs it in one go. His eyebrow shoots up in surprise. “That’s not bad.”

“See. I told you.” Madge throws up her arms in triumph. “My eggnog brings all the boys to the yard.” She grabs the bottle and pours him another mouthful. It’s only eleven in the morning and they’re at work afterall.

He drinks this one a little slower. “It’s nice. My mam would love it.”

“You can take the bottle.” There’s a bit more arguing to convince him to accept the bottle because god forbid an Irish person accept something the first time it’s offered to them; but eventually he takes it.

Madge is rinsing her cup when she sees that he’s looking at her strangely. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

He smiles and shrugs his shoulder bashfully. “When you first started here, I thought you were just an annoying American, but you’re actually…. I’m really glad you’re here.”

She’s not quite sure how she doesn’t melt into a puddle of mush on the floor at that. It feels like every cell in her body is singing and melting at the same time. “Um. OK, good.”

Gale puts away the clean cups and leaves the kitchenette. Madge stays a while longer until her heart rate has slowed back to normal and she doesn’t have to grip the side of the sink to stay vertical.


	8. Eight

DAY EIGHT: Hazelle

Thanks to Gale’s spare heater, Madge wakes up on Saturday morning feeling toasty warm, clinging to the last delicious wisps of a dream.

In her dream, she was with Gale, walking hand in hand under the Christmas lights on Grafton Street. In her dream, she was kissing him, tasting the spicy sweetness of the eggnog on his lips.

It felt so good, and so real. If it weren’t for the sudden, inexplicable appearance of—Madge furrows her brow and tries to remember—a deer, she would be hard pressed to convince herself it was all just a dream.

Madge shakes her head at the memory. Why was she dreaming about a deer?

* * *

Twelve. Twelve missed calls. And they’re all from Gale.

She sits up in bed, fully awake. Gale mentioned, yesterday, that he and his friends were going on a pub crawl. She didn’t think there was anything to be worried about; she knows he can handle his alcohol. Besides, as far as holiday traditions go, you can’t really get any more Irish than something called the 12 Pubs of Christmas.

Now, however, she feels sick to her stomach. Is something wrong? Did something—

She hits the call button so hard, she’s afraid her phone might break.

“Hello? Hello, Gale?”

There’s no reply. She pulls her phone away from her ear, checking to make sure the call went through. It did.

She tries again. “Hello?”

Finally, finally, she hears Gale on the other end of the line. “Madge?” he says, his voice heavy with sleep.

She’s never been more relieved. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sounds disoriented. “I—I heard your voice… thought I was still dreaming.”

Still? Madge’s heart lurches forward at the word, but she pushes the thought out of her mind. “You called me twelve times.”

“I did?” There’s a few moments of silence, and Madge imagines that he’s checking the call history on his phone. “Oh, god. Sorry… must’ve sat on my phone wrong or something.” He groans. “I’m so hungover.”

“Did you make it through all twelve pubs?”

“I think so. It was all a blur after number nine.”

He makes a gagging sound, and Madge makes a snap decision. “I’m coming over.”

“Don’t,” he says. There’s an echo to his voice, as if he’s walked into the bathroom. “I’m Irish—this is a normal Saturday morn—”

The sentence is cut off by the sound of Gale vomiting.

“Give me your address,” Madge orders him. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

* * *

The trip to the Northside takes longer than she expects. Madge thinks about Gale carrying that heavy box with his spare heater all the way to the Southside, and how disappointed she was that he didn’t stay to warm her up himself.

She’s a horrible, ungrateful friend. But at least she knows it, and can try to make up for it.

“What, no flat 7 Up?” she teases Gale, when he opens the door with a bottle of energy drink in his hand. His hair is sticking up at weird angles and he can barely keep his eyes open, but it makes him even more attractive if anything.

He manages a chuckle. “Lucozade,” he says, raising the red plastic bottle slightly.

His flat is small and spartan, but it’s spotlessly clean. The only thing on the living room table is a newspaper—several days old, with a photo of a triumphant Conor McGregor splashed across the front of it.

“Your hero,” Madge observes with a smile. She’s not into mixed martial arts, herself, but it’s hard not to notice when the newly crowned champion is a Dublin native.

Gale grins sheepishly. “One of our own. Lad’s done well for himself—he was on the dole, not too long ago.”

She sets her bag down on a chair. There’s a sweater across the back of it, in the most lurid shade of green she’s ever seen.

“My Twelve Pubs jumper,” he explains, almost apologetically.

“Hey, I’m not here to judge your fashion sense,” she laughs. “I’m here to take care of you and make you breakfast. Well, brunch, technically.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Madge assures him. “It’s the least I can do, after the heater. Not to mention all the chocolate you’ve given me at Delly’s expense.”

She ushers him into the bedroom, despite his protestations. “Now rest,” she commands, placing her hands on Gale’s broad shoulders so she can push him down to a sitting position.

But just as she’s pushing down, he leans back, and before she knows it her knees have buckled and she’s lost her balance completely.

The next thing Madge registers is that Gale is flat on his back and she’s splayed out on top of him, her face smushed against the hard planes of his chest and their limbs tangled together on top of the covers. She can detect that fermented grass smell of Guinness again, but just barely, and now that it’s mixed with the mint of his mouthwash and the natural scent of his skin it’s surprisingly impossible to resist. Oh god oh god oh god.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps. She pulls herself up, only to end up straddling him. Her skirt has ridden up her thighs and she can feel the material of his sweatpants through her winter tights. Oh god oh god oh god.

“Don’t be,” he says. There’s no more trace of sleep in his eyes; he’s wide awake, sober, and alert, and the black of his pupils have nearly swallowed up the grey of his irises whole. “I—”

I need some love like I never needed love before. (Wanna make love to ya, baby.)

Gale pauses. He whips his head around, trying to figure out where the music’s coming from. “What the hell?”

I had a little love, now I’m back for more. (Wanna make love to ya, baby.)

It takes Madge another second to realize it’s her phone ringing. “Oh god,” she says as she climbs off Gale. She doesn’t know whether she should be relieved or disappointed for the distraction. “Jo must have changed my ringtone again.”

Gale’s confusion gives way to amusement. “To the Spice Girls?”

“Hey, I like the Spice Girls.” One of her earliest Christmas memories was singing along to “2 Become 1” while decked out in her new velvet coat.

He props himself up on his elbows. “Let me guess. You liked Posh best.”

She shakes her head. “Baby Spice all the way. I was, like, five years old when this song came out. I had the coat, the pigtails, everything.” Suddenly, her dream makes a whole lot more sense, now that she knows this song has been serenading her in her sleep. “Remember the music video?”

Gale laughs. “I never did understand the ending with the deer.”

Her phone is still ringing. Madge checks the caller ID and frowns. “I don’t know this number.”

He looks over her shoulder. “Christ,” he groans. “It’s Ma.”

She freezes. “How did your mother even get my number? And why would she call me now?” Did Mrs. Hawthorne have some sort of sixth sense for when her son was being accidentally mounted by some random American?

“She made me give it to her,” he says. “After the kids… and then the eggnog…” He laughs ruefully. “Just answer.”

“Is this Madge?” Mrs. Hawthorne’s voice is warm and affectionate, exactly how an embrace would sound like. “This is Hazelle Hawthorne, Gale’s mother.”

“Yes, this is Madge.” Even though it’s just a phone call, she finds herself smoothing down her skirt. “Mrs. Hawthorne, this is such a pleasant surprise.”

She laughs. “Call me Hazelle. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Madge wonders if Hazelle knows about the Daddy incident. “All good things, I hope.”

“All wonderful things. Thank you for the eggnog. It was delicious, we enjoyed it very much. I’ll have to think of a way to make it up to you.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” Madge says humbly. “But please don’t—it was no trouble at all.”

“Well, I’m afraid I do have to trouble you for something.” Hazelle’s voice takes on a more somber tone. “I’ve been trying to get hold of Gale. I’ve already called Thom and Katniss, but they’re not answering their phones, either.”

Madge’s eyes dart toward Gale. “Is he in trouble?”

“If he doesn’t call me back, he will be,” Hazelle says cheerfully.

Madge chews her lip. “Well… he’s actually here with me. I mean,” she clarifies, “he said he was hungover, so I came to his place to check up on him.”

She passes the phone to Gale, who immediately has to hold it away from his ear. “My phone died, Ma,” he grouses, once Hazelle lets him have a word in edgewise. “I don’t know, it was after I talked to Madge. It’s charging now. I’ve—I’ve what? Gone viral? No, I don’t have Facebook notifications turned on… hang on.”

Gale flips his laptop open and pulls up Facebook. He’s immediately greeted by a Vine of him from last night, dancing drunkenly and extremely awkwardly to “Hotline Bling”. Madge can see Thom in the background, wearing fluorescent pink and absolutely losing his shit.

“After everything I’ve done for the bloody bastard,” he mutters under his breath.

Gale assures his mother that in no way does he condone the message of the song, and hands the phone back to Madge. “Thank you so much, dear,” Hazelle says pleasantly, as if nothing has happened. “So lovely to meet you.”

By this time, Madge has tears in her eyes from silently laughing. But she holds it together long enough to say goodbye to Gale’s mother.

When she hangs up, Gale is glowering at her. “You’re loving this.”

“Aw, don’t worry. It didn’t really go viral, and they’ll forget all about it in a day or two.” Madge ducks under his arm so that it’s draped around her shoulder. She grins up at him. “Are you still up for that hangover breakfast?”

She feels him relax. “Depends,” he says gruffly. “Is it going to involve sausage, eggs, and rashers?”

“The works,” she promises him. “And all the tea or Lucozade you can drink.”

They steer clear of the bedroom for the rest of the morning. But later, when they’re hanging out in the living room, eating breakfast rolls and watching the Spice Girls movie unironically, Madge knows there’s no place she’d rather be.


	9. Nine

DAY NINE: Cookies and Tears/Crying

There’s a tin box sitting on Madge’s desk on Monday morning. She opens the lid and peers inside. “Ooh, cookies.”

Gale puts his large hand on the lid, preventing Madge from opening it. “Undersee, you’ve been here long enough now to know that these are called biscuits.”

Madge rolls her chair away, releasing the lid from his grip and pulls out a cookie. “What’s this one called?”

“Fine,” he huffs. “That’s a chocolate chip cookie. But collectively they are all biscuits.” He reaches in and picks one. “Look, a ginger nut biscuit.” He dunks it in his mug of tea and smirks at her as he bites into the now soggy biscuit.

Madge selects a chocolate oatie one and bites into it, revelling in its deliciousness. “Where did they come from?” she asks, holding her hand up to her mouth to prevent the spray of crumbs.

“Mam made them for you.” Gale doesn’t notice Madge’s shocked expression. “To say thanks for looking after me; although I actually think it’s really for the eggnog. She loves it. You’ve turned her into a bit of an alcoholic.”

“Oh, thank you. That’s so kind of her.” To her horror, Madge can feel tears prick her eyelids. She turns away from Gale and pretends to be absorbed in something on her computer.

“Madge,” Gale says, his voice full of concern. She plays deaf. He rolls his desk chair over and turns her chair so she’s forced to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she insists, brushing tears away and smiling at him. “Honestly, I’m fine.”

“You’re crying, so that’s a load of bollox. Tell me what’s wrong.” He glances over at the tin of biscuits, as if they can provide an answer.

“Really, I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting anything at all, and your mother made three types of cookies for me. It’s so sweet and I guess, it just made me miss my own mother a little. They were supposed to be arriving today and it’s just hitting me, you know, that I won’t be with my family for Christmas. But, I’m fine, honestly.”

Gale leans back in his chair, still looking worried. Madge smiles at him again and takes another bite of her cookie, he sighs and rolls back to his own desk.

A few hours later, Gale follows her into the kitchenette where she’s making another cup of tea.

“You’re going native,” he jokes. “That’s your fourth cup today.”

Madge laughs. “It’s your mother’s fault. Her cookies are amazing. I can’t stop eating them; and I need something to wash them down with.”

Gale leans against the counter top. “Speaking of my mother, sort of; what are you doing Christmas Day?”

“I’m going to the ex-pat thing with the everyone else.” She tries to smile, to look like she’s looking forward to it but it feels like she’s grimacing. The company has organised a dinner for all the international employees who are staying in Dublin over the Christmas break. Madge had decided to go along after learning her parents wouldn’t be coming over; It will undoubtedly be very enjoyable, but today she’s just feeling a little sorry for herself.

“Come to my house, spend the day with me and my family,” Gale says.

She can feel tears rise up again and wants to throw her arms around him and smother his face in kisses. “I can’t intrude. That’s really kind of you, Gale, but I couldn’t.”

“You can. It’s not an intrusion, I’m inviting you. Come on.”

She shakes her head. She wants to go. She’d love to go, but there’s no way she could impose on his family. “I can’t.”

Gale huffs. “Listen, if you don’t come, I’m going to tell my ma that you’re sitting all alone in your apartment because your parents didn’t come over and your flatmates have gone home. Do you know what she’ll do to me if she finds out that I didn’t make you come? She’ll kill me.”

Madge giggles.

“She’ll make me do all the washing-up by myself. She won’t give me any presents. I’ll only get brussels sprouts for my dinner.”

“Brussels sprouts are amazing.”

“Sure, but not by themselves when everybody else is eating turkey and ham, and stuffing, and roast spuds. Plus, no dessert for me.”

“Gale.” She’s smiling from ear to ear now.

“She’ll make me go to mass, Madge. Father Donnelly can talk about the evils of sin for forty minutes without drawing breath.” He shudders. “And I’ll be hungover.” He pouts adorably. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Stop,” Madge laughs. She rolls her eyes, tries to be calm, but she’s dying of happiness right now. “I’ll come. I’d love to. Thank you.”

Gale smiles at her. “Thank you; you’ve saved me from a terrible fate.”

It’s almost impossible to do any work after that; her mind keeps taking her on flights of fancy - imagining curling up with Gale in front of an open fire, or walking hand in hand in the snow. Even though she knows there’s zero chances of snow, her imagination insists on a snowy setting for her fantasies.

Eventually, she has to give herself a stern talking to; if she doesn’t stop daydreaming and knuckle down to do some work, she’s going to lose her job, her visa will be revoked and she’ll have to go back home, and never see Gale again.


	10. Ten

Day Ten - Mistletoe

Fortunately, it’s not just Madge who has other things on her mind besides work. No one manages to get anything done on the day of the office Christmas party. Their bosses give up and send them home early.

That night, she shows up at the party, her Secret Santa gift stashed in a nondescript shopping bag and her entire body humming with anticipation.

Gale’s the first one she sees. “Pretty dress,” he says, smiling as he helps her shrug off her coat.

Madge’s cheeks turn pink as she smooths a hand down the bodice of her dress. It’s cobalt blue and matches her shoes perfectly. “Do you like my heels, too?” she jokes.

They’re higher than what she normally wears to work, and while she’s still not as tall as Gale, with these heels she comes pretty close.

He straightens his back. They’re almost eye to eye. “They’re grand,” he replies, grinning in approval.

Unfortunately, Delly chooses that moment to appear at Madge’s side and take her arm. “There you are! Jo’s chatting up the DJ. She’s just brilliant, oh my god. Come watch.”

Gale laughs good-naturedly. “Sounds like good craic.”

Madge can only shoot an apologetic glance back at him as she’s whisked away. She can’t help thinking this is karma for eating all those strawberry Roses.

Then again, watching Jo flirt with the redheaded DJ is educational. Madge almost feels like she should be taking notes. Not that it would matter anyway; she’s more or less given up all her disastrous attempts at flirting.

A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through her as she reflects on the past few days. Operation Vixen was a fiasco but, at the same time, things between her and Gale have never been better. She called him Daddy, but she also met his siblings, impressed his mother with her eggnog-making skills, and wrangled herself an invitation to the Hawthorne home for Christmas. Beyond that, she and Gale have supported each other through holiday blues and hangovers. Now, more than ever, she knows she has a friend in him.

* * *

The party’s a laid-back affair. The booze flows freely, and the eggnog Madge contributed is a hit. She almost forgets all about Secret Santa until Wiress gathers their team around her and announces it’s time for the big reveal.

Her stomach’s in knots. All the snooping around and spying, it all comes down to this.

She’s so busy worrying about whether Gale will like her gift, she doesn’t realize her name has been called until Delly shakes her shoulder.

There’s a funny little smile playing on Wiress’s lips as she double-checks the card on the gift. “Madge’s Secret Santa is… Gale!”

She’s dumbfounded as the present is placed in her arms. She’s tempted to pinch herself, in case she’s dreaming. Surely it’s not possible that she and Gale are giving each other gifts for Secret Santa.

But that’s exactly what’s happening.

“I can’t believe it,” she tells Gale, later when he steers her away from the crowd so they can open their presents in peace. “This is such an amazing coincidence.”

Well, half of it is. After all, she did hunt Thom down so she could swap with him.

They argue over who should open their present first, and there’s no way Madge is going to win that argument against an Irishman so she goes first. Her eyes widen as she sees what’s inside.

Gale rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “I know you play piano,” he says. “And, well, I reckon you miss having a musical instrument at home, so…”

Her eyes water. She doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“They’re cheap as chips by themselves, that’s why I got you both,” he adds hastily. “I mean, there are more expensive ones, but these are good to start with. Not saying you’re a beginner of course, or that you even need to play them at all, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Madge breathes as she clutches the tin whistle to her chest. It’s about a foot long, like a recorder. She doesn’t care how much it costs; the real gift is the music it’s capable of playing. Somehow Gale knows music is the one thing that will make her feel at home, truly at home, here in Dublin.

She looks at him with new eyes. She’s always been attracted to Gale Hawthorne, but now she’s kind of a little in love with him.

“They’re nice souvenirs even if you never use them,” Gale goes on to say. “You know what they are, right? That one’s kind of like a Celtic flute. And the other one’s—”

“A bodhran,” she finishes for him as she picks up the hand drum. She has a goofy smile on her face. “Like in The Corrs.”

He chuckles. “That’s right. Andrea Corr was my first crush, actually.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Was she?”

“Yeah.” He grins. “But I got over it.”

Before Madge can stop herself, she asks: “So who do you have a crush on now?”

He looks a little surprised at how forward she’s being. In all honesty, so is she. “I think…” he begins to say. He pushes the box back toward her. “I think I have another present for you.”

Madge’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Huh?” But then she realizes there’s something else, something buried under the shredded red and green filler paper.

She blushes as she pulls out a sprig of mistletoe. “Um.”

“I like you, Madge,” he blurts out. “I have for a long time. I just, well, I didn’t think you would go for me.”

She’s never heard of anything more ludicrous. “How can you say that?” Has Gale even seen himself? Not to objectify him or anything—he’s clearly smart, and he’s done so much for his family—but, come on.

“You came here, and it was like you were straight out of those American shows on telly,” he tells her. “You know, the posh ones. You’re rich, your dad’s a politician… I’m a working-class Dub. But these past few days… maybe it’s all in my head, but I started thinking I had a chance.”

Madge wants to melt into a puddle of happiness. “I thought I was the one who didn’t have a chance. I thought I’d never be more than a friend to you.”

“After all the chocolate I’ve stolen for you? Do you know what Delly can do?” His face breaks into a broad grin. “So you like me?”

She has to laugh. “I do,” she tells him. “I really do.”

An electric current sizzles through her as he takes her hand. “You won’t call Human Resources on me for giving you mistletoe?”

Her cheeks are aching from smiling so much. “You ass. You don’t even need mistletoe.”

“But it’s tradition,” he protests half-heartedly as she tosses the mistletoe back into the box.

She winds her arms around his neck. “I say we start our own tradition.”

His lips are chapped, but there’s a lingering taste of eggnog on them, just like in her dream. His eyelashes brush against her cheek; his breath is warm on her skin. It’s exhilarating, but at the same time also deeply comforting, like waking up on Christmas morning.

It’s not until they emerge, flushed and breathless, from their first kiss that she remembers Gale still hasn’t opened his gift. “It’s a Christmas onesie,” she tells him, embarrassed. “I thought… you had to grow up so fast… you would appreciate a chance to relive your childhood and wear something silly.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or you just want me to call you Mammy.”

She groans. Will she ever live that down? “You said there was nothing perverted about the word Daddy!”

“There isn’t. But let’s make a deal. Let’s never call each other Mammy, Daddy, baby, anything like that, ever again.”

“Deal,” she nods. “I’m fine with just Gale and Madge.”

“Yeah, about that… Posy is already calling us Gadge.”

The fact that she and Gale already have a couple name cracks her up. “Fine. But we shouldn’t pronounce it with the A from Gale. We should pronounce it with the A in Madge.”

“That’s not really fair, is it? You get four letters and I get just the one?” he teases her. “I don’t care how we pronounce it. As long as it’s you and me.”

“As long as it’s you and me,” she agrees, her eyelids fluttering shut as he leans in for another kiss. “Sounds deadly.”


	11. Eleven

DAY ELEVEN: Christmas Eve

Since waking this morning, she feels like she’s floating. Her face hurts from smiling, but she can’t stop. Gale likes her. Gale kissed her. And later, he’s coming over to pick her so she can celebrate Christmas with her family. In her wildest dreams, she had never expected Operation Vixen to succeed so resoundingly.

Gale arrives around four, apologising for his lateness. “Mam is up to ninety; you’d think the baby Jesus was actually coming to have dinner with us tomorrow.” Then he swoops down to kiss her, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Hi.”

It’s difficult to pull apart and get into the car, to drive across the city.

The Hawthornes live in a terraced house in the middle of a large and cramped housing estate. There’s a gaggle of teenage girls sitting on the wall outside, Madge recognises Posy amongst them. The girls giggle and blush when Gale gets out of the car and greets them. It’s ridiculously immature, but Madge can’t help feeling a little smug that she’s bagged the guy other girls drool over; even if those other girls are only twelve. 

Gale brings her inside to introduce her to Hazelle who greets Madge like an old friend, throwing her arms around her and declaring how happy she is that Madge will spend Christmas with them.

She drinks tea with Hazelle and Posy, chatting happily as Gale peels an actual mountain of potatoes. Rory and Vick arrive shortly after, carrying shopping bags of presents and enlist Madge to help wrap them. They eat their evening meal together, and afterwards Madge makes another batch of eggnog for Hazelle.

The Hawthornes are loud and rambunctious. Between their thick accents and their inside jokes, Madge frequently loses the thread of the conversation; but she enjoys being with them, soaking up their warmth. Spending the evening with them is infinitely better than being alone in her apartment.

Around nine, Gale, Madge, Rory and Vick pull on their coats and head for the local pub. It’s cold out, and there’s a slight drizzle. which makes it seem colder still. Gale wraps his arm around her and pulls her close to him to share his body warmth.

“Does this count as our first date?” she asks.

“Jesus, no. This is just the pub. I’ll take you on a proper date after Christmas.” He stops walking, and lowers his voice so that his brothers can’t hear him. “How should I introduce you? Is it ok to call you my girlfriend?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Rory opens the pub door and they’re hit with a wave of heat and noise. Gale grabs her hand and holds tightly as they squeeze their way through the dense crowd until he spots his friends.

He’s greeted warmly and with hugs. It seems like he knows everybody. He grins proudly as he introduces “My girlfriend, Madge.”

Everybody is friendly and welcoming; each and every person Gale introduces her to loudly asks what a girl like her is doing with Gale. He takes it all good naturedly. It’s great fun to meet all his friends and watch Gale interact with them; but between the heat and the noise, the endless parade of unfamiliar faces and names, and the huge crowd pressing in at all sides, it’s also very overwhelming.

After an hour, Gale leans down to speak quietly in her ear. “Do you want to go?”

Madge shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. Stay.”

He kisses her gently then throws back the last of his pint. “We’re going to go,” he announces to his friends.

They react with disbelief and try to get him to stay, but Gale pulls on his coat and hands Madge hers. She tries to assure him that she’s happy to stay, she doesn’t want to ruin his night, but Gale insists. He finds his brothers to let them know he’s leaving, cautioning Rory to keep an eye on Vick.

The coolness of the night is a relief after the heat of the pub, and Madge has to admit she’s glad to be out of there. “I’m sorry to ruin your night,” she says.

Gale laughs. “You didn’t. I can see them any time. I just wanted to be alone with you.”

Madge beams at him, pulling him down for a lingering kiss. They only pull apart as it starts to rain. Gale wraps his arms around her and they hurry back home.

The only lights on in the house are from the christmas tree and the garland over the fireplace.

“Mam and Pose must be gone to midnight mass,” Gale says. He heads up the stairs, calling over his shoulder to her. “Stick on the kettle.”

She boils the kettle and makes two cups of tea. As she’s pouring in the milk, she hears movement behind her and turns to find Gale posing in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing his brand new onesie.

“You are so sexy,” she says with a laugh.

“I know.”

Madge snorts and hands him his tea.

They curl up together on the couch, watching the lights twinkling on the tree. Gale nudges the collar of her sweater so that it falls off her shoulder and he peppers gentle kisses along her bare skin.

“I’ve been fantasising about doing this since that night I brought the heater over,” he murmurs against her neck. “You were wearing a jumper that was too big for you and it kept slipping off. It drove me crazy.”

“I wore that sweater on purpose,” she informs him. “It was all part of my plan to seduce you that night. I thought that’s what you meant when you said you’d warm me up.”

Gale sits upright. “Are you saying that I could have got the ride that night, and instead, I went shopping?”

“Yes!”

Gale groans, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus, I’m such a fucking eejit.”

“I agree,” Madge says with a laugh. “I was so obvious; how did you not know?”

He covers his face with hands and groans. “All that wasted time.”

Madge pulls his hands away and smiles sweetly at him. “You have some making up to do, buddy.”

“I should get on that,” he says before lips finds hers.

Hazelle and Posy return from mass half an hour later, smirking knowingly at the pair on the couch when they walk in to find them with messy hair and swollen lips. Madge feels that they’ve made a good start on the catching up, but there’s a lot more do.


	12. Twelve

DAY TWELVE: Christmas and Surprise

It’s well past midnight when Hazelle sends them off to bed. It’s decided that Madge will room with Posy—no surprises there—but she’s hardly disappointed. As much as she wants to jump Gale now, she also wants to stay in his mother’s good graces, and to set a good example for the kids.

Of course, her resolve is sorely tested when she and Gale have the bathroom to themselves as they’re getting ready for bed.

It starts out innocently enough. They’re brushing their teeth together, and Madge can’t stop grinning whenever she looks at their reflection in the mirror. Gale bumps her with his hip; she bumps him back, a little harder. When it’s time to rinse, he splashes her with water.

“Look what you’ve done!” she half-laughs, half-hisses as she holds the front of her pajama top away from her chest.

Gale goes to his room and comes back with one of his old shirts. “You can wear this,” he says. The bathroom door closes behind him with a click.

Maybe it’s the Guinness and the eggnog, or maybe it’s just Gale’s presence intoxicating her, but Madge decides to get him back by stripping off her pajama top in the slowest, sexiest way possible. Fixing him with a sultry stare, she unfastens the first button, then the second.

She notes with satisfaction that—except for the slightest flare of his nostrils—Gale has gone perfectly still. As her fingers dance lightly but deliberately down the row of buttons, she lets her top fall open—just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, just enough to show him she doesn’t have a bra on. All the while she’s adding a slow, subtle rolling of her hips, and when she squeezes her thighs together she’s doing it for her own pleasure just as much as his.

When the last button comes undone, so does Gale. He grasps her top, shoves it off her shoulders and halfway down her arms, uses it to pull her close to him.

He groans when her lips touch his. “I had no idea you could be such a vixen,” he says in a rough but low voice.

She slides her hand up his chest, over the soft fleece of the onesie she gave him, until her fingers close around the pull tab of his zipper. “Neither did I.”

She’s startled when she encounters bare skin. He had a shirt and boxers on underneath when they were making out on the couch earlier, but now there’s nothing.

He covers her hand with his. “Here’s another present for you,” he whispers with a wicked smile on his face. “Happy Christmas.”

“Best Secret Santa ever,” she purrs.

“Speaking of Secret Santa,” he murmurs as he nibbles at her ear, “I have a confession to make.”

Madge reaches behind her to grip the edge of the sink as Gale kisses his way down her neck. “How very Catholic of you,” she manages to say.

She feels him smile against her throat. “I’m serious.”

“What is it?”

He lifts his head so he can look her in the eye. “I didn’t pick you for Secret Santa,” he admits. “I swapped for you.”

“Oh my god.” Madge pulls herself upright and puts her hands on either side of his face. “Gale, I swapped for you.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

Gale’s entire face lights up with an expression of pure joy. He presses a kiss on her naked breast, right over her heart. “I’m so mad for you.”

She can’t remember ever feeling so giddy. “I’m so mad for you, too.”

They kiss. It’s soft, and tender, but with every moment it deepens, becomes fiercer.

His hands are grabbing her ass and she’s about to wrap her legs around his waist when there’s a knock on the door.

“Oi.” It’s Vick, sounding drunk and half asleep. “I need t’ take a piss.”

Gale smothers a groan. “Not again.”

Madge tries to catch her breath. “Maybe it’s just as well,” she breathes. “Maybe our first time shouldn’t be in the bathroom in your mother’s house.”

Vick rattles the doorknob feebly. “Oi,” he mumbles. “Need t’ piss.”

Gale pulls Madge’s pajama top back on, and she zips up his onesie. “To be continued?”

Madge nods. “To be continued.”


End file.
